


Through Yonder Window Breaks

by Blargnaught



Series: Naked Neighbors [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5+1 Things, Even though he's hella annoying sometimes, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, I adore Lance, I can never resist the urge to add porn to something, Keith has a dirty mind, Language Fetish, M/M, Not sure how that happened, OT3, Oral Fixation, Rating will probably go up becasue lets be serious, Silliness while I wait for Camp Nano to start, Their respective patios are legit characters in this I swear, This turned into a fluffy romance story somewhre, Threesome - M/M/M, attempting to write healthy relationships, just tooth rotting fluff, keith's pov, literally no conflict, m/m - Freeform, mild clothing fetish, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-11 11:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10464108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blargnaught/pseuds/Blargnaught
Summary: The apartment across from Keith and Shiro's is no longer empty, and that's great, fine, whatever. Except their patio door faces his patio door and....well....The guy seems to have a thing against wearing clothes. And curtains. And it started off just kind of annoying, but this is really starting to get out of hand, ok? Send help!orLance should probably invest in some curtains, but then he wouldn't be able to prance around his apartment in various states of undress for the viewing pleasure of the two very confused (and very hot) guys with the patio adjacent to his: a 5+`1 story.





	1. Tighty Whities (A Side)

**Author's Note:**

> I NEED to write Keith/Lance/Shiro, ok, and I can't work on my really big Space!Assassin AU until Camp nano starts (in the spirit of fairness) so this is supposed to hold me over until Camp starts. So, I figure, if I write 1 part a day starting now, and Camp starts in 6 days...
> 
> Well, I'll probably finish it, anyway. Hopefully. Wish me luck!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI, This fic is meant to be read along with its sister fic, But Soft, What Light, which is part two in this series, but their events are happening simultaneously. The original idea was that TYWB would contain the main plot line, and BSWL would have background stuff (essentially Shiro wooing Lance on his own time), but that is not what happened. So, as of about chapter three, if you are not reading both, things might start to get a little confusing. :-/

1.

Keith is sitting on his balcony, iced tea in hand and floor fan blasting on high, when the balcony door to the apartment across the way slides open and a guy strides out, clad only in a sinfully tight pair of briefs. He has a phone pressed against the side of his face and he is gesticulating wildly at nothing Keith can see. Their apartments are just close enough that Keith can tell he's not speaking English -- though he's far enough that he can't actually identify the language -- and he can hear the faint sounds of music floating from the open doorway.

 

The guy does not seem to notice Keith, or Keith staring at him, a little slack-jawed, as he continues his animated conversation. He's pacing....no, stalking is a better word -- he moves with an unpracticed grace, lanky legs bringing him from one end of the space to the other in four strides. Back and forth, back and forth. He stops a couple of times to run his fingers through his short, dark hair in obvious agitation. Whatever he's discussing, he does not appear happy.

 

Keith pulls out his cell phone and snaps a quick picture, sends it to Shiro with the caption _apartment across from us isn't empty anymore._

 

 _Is he in his underwear?_ comes back a few seconds later. Shiro must be done with his job already.

 

_Yeah._

 

_He's cute._

 

_I guess?_

 

He watches the guy hang up his phone with an air of finality and stand for a moment, hip cocked, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's trying to stave off a headache. He's seen hotter, but Keith is more into muscles and athletic physiques like Shiro's, and this guy has a bean pole walking, turns sideways and you miss him kind of body, so maybe his judgment is a little skewed. His skin _is_ an attractive caramel color, though at this distance Keith can't tell if it's his natural coloring or if he just spends a lot of time in the sun.

 

His phone buzzes again.

 

_r u being a creeper?_

 

_no. I was on the balcony first_

 

He looks up and startles when he catches the guy's eye. The guy looks just as surprised to see Keith as Keith is at finally being spotted (though he shouldn't be), and for a long moment they stare silently across the gulf separating their respective patios. Keith isn't really sure what reaction he expects -- embarrassment, maybe? The guy was just standing around in his underwear, after all. But what he gets instead is a bright, shameless smile, a wink and a double finger gun. And while he's still processing that, the guy slips back into his own apartment, hips swaying in a way Keith's sure is intentional and he reevaluates, just a little, because that was actually a pretty nice ass.

 

Still....

 

His phone buzzes again.

 

_he can't be any worse than that last guy_

 

Keith casts the empty patio a skeptical look and takes another sip of his tea. That remained to be seen.


	2. Sock Skating?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Shiro catch Lance entertaining himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shifting this back to chapter 2 and removing Shiro's POV so I can put it in a separate fic. It's easier this way.

2.

For some reason, Keith honestly expects that to be the end of it. Well, of the nudity, at least.

So, ok, the guy had walked around in his underwear for a bit. It was mid-summer and it was hot, like really, _really_ hot, and it wasn't like Keith and Shiro hadn't givin into the odd urge now and then to strip down to their bare skin and lay on the couch with the AC on (although they, at least, stayed out of public view.) And the guy was obviously shameless, so. Not a big deal. It's not like he was breaking any public decency laws or anything.

Shiro finds it all very funny, and it's cute how disappointed he is when he gets home and the new neighbor is nowhere in sight. He teases Keith about it mercilessly, though, which is very _not_ cute, and keeps stealing peeks out the windows until Keith has no choice but to drag him back into the bedroom and occupy him for the rest of the day.

They don't see him the next day, either, or the next. Shiro seems a little put out over this (and really, sometimes Keith wonders who's actually the older one between the two of them), and wonders over breakfast if maybe the guy works odd hours or something. Keith, for the most part, assumes that it was a one-time thing and puts it out of his mind. And so it goes until that weekend.

"Keith." Keith glances up from his phone. He had been perusing some news article or the other, but Shiro's excited voice was more than enough to make him forget all about it. His husband is standing in front of the patio door, flapping a hand in Keith's general direction. "Keith, come here, you need to see this."

Curious, Keith slides off of his barstool and shuffles over. Shiro's eyes are focused on the apartment across form theirs and Keith follows his gaze....

...and blinks when Naked Neighbor Guy goes skidding across his field of vision, clad only in a pair of tube socks and a towel.

What the fuck?

"What the fuck?" Keith wonders out loud. Shiro huffs out a laugh.

"He's sock skating." He scuffs a toe against their own hardwood floor. They both watch, Shiro palpably amused and Keith perplexed, as Neighbor Guy skids back across his living room in the opposite direction. "He's been doing this for about five minutes."

On his thrid pass, one foot slides out from under him. Shiro make a small, distressed noise as he pinwheels his arms, catches his balance, and then has to scramble to catch his towel as it begins to unravel. He stays frozen for a moment as if trying to affirm that he isn't about to fall flat on his ass, then looks up.

It's like deja vu: the same surprised expression, followed by the same cocky smirk. Neighbor guy straightens and waves, then points at his feet as if to say _look what I can do_. Shiro waves back, elbowing Keith until he also lifts his hand in a half-hearted salute. Neighbor Guy's face lights up. He sweeps an absurdly low bow to them, like they should be applauding him for behaving like a child, and when he straightens he blows them a kiss.

"Don't encourage him." Keith says when Shiro laughs. Shiro, the prick, ignores him.

*~*~*~*

"I was right though." He says sometime later, and completely without context. Keith hums questioningly. Shiro's lips turn up in a sly smile. "He really is cute."

Keith throws a pillow at him.


	3. Clothing Maketh The Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro and Keith finally get to see their neighbor in some actual clothes....and then get a front row seat as he removes them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to make Shiro's POV separate, if only because work is keeping me from writing them as fast as I would need to to post them on time. Real life WOULD pick now, of all times to try and eat my face. Oh well.
> 
> I really don't like this one, but I'm tired of editing it. It will probably never sound right and I'll come back in the future and be extremely embarrassed by it but whatever. (It was literally just an excuse for me to write about suits in a mildly fetishy manner because I really like suits, so it's pretty contrived all around.)

3.

 

So, the Naked Neighbor Guy definitely has a thing against curtains. And the regular use of clothing.

 

This isn't an immediate problem -- it's not like he just goes naked all of the time. Keith would estimate it's about fifty-fifty; Over the next month or so they see him in varying states of dress and undress: when he _does_ bother with clothing it's usually something light and loose in concession to the weather. But, just as often, he or Shiro or he _and_ Shiro wind up treated to flashes of spare muscle, smooth skin and, on one memorable occasion, a pert and surprisingly well defined backside. Keith figures that most people would have complained by now -- called the super, filed an indecency charge or whatever, but...well, Shiro seems more tickled by it than annoyed, and the guy really isn't hard on the eyes (though Keith adamantly maintains that he's only maybe a five or six, tops. Skinny dudes just don't do it for him. That's more Shiro's speed.)

 

Anyway, he isn't really home all that much, and between that and Keith and Shiro's odd hours, it's not like they're getting flashed constantly.

 

So, no harm, no foul, right?

 

Until one night when Shiro and Keith are sitting out on their patio and enjoying the last vestiges of a summer sunset, home cooked dinner eaten and chilled beers sweating between their fingertips. Keith is savoring a rare cool breeze, and may or may not have been mentally waxing poetic over the way the fading light shadows Shiro's face (they will need to turn on the outside lights soon if they are going to stay outside, but neither of them are willing to deal with the moths and mosquito hawks yet), when Shiro abruptly stops talking and just sort of...stares...over Keith's shoulder with wide eyes and a slack mouth. Keith twists in his seat to see what has distracted his husband, and finds...well.

 

Well, ok, so, there is a woman in the apartment, first of all - the lights are on and in the increasing dark it's easy to see straight through the glass door and into the livingroom beyond.

 

So there's this woman, curvey and dark skinned, in nothing but a pair of brightly colored bikini bottoms and a gauzy wrap. She's standing half in and half out on the patio, facing the apartment door, watching their neighbor as he -- slowly -- undoes the buttons on a formal black vest. Keith can see a heap of fabric at his feet and assumes it's a jacket of some kind, recently discarded, and he mentally retracts about a quarter of the scathing comments he's made about Neighbor Guy over the last month or so, because he looks...nice. _Really_ nice. (And Keith does _not_ have a clothing fetish, thank you very much, Shiro. He just knows how to appreciate a well dressed man, that's all.)

 

The woman turns and steps fully onto the patio, crooking her finger over her shoulder in a come hither gesture that Neighbor Guy is all to happy to follow. Keith's heart does an uncomfortable backflip when her head turns in his direction, but she either does not see them in the mostly dark, or she doesn't care that they're there, and their presence passes unremarked. He hears Shiro breath a quiet sigh of relief behind him, and silently commiserates.

 

Their neighbor has also forgone his flood lights, so he's standing half in shadow, partially backlit by the light spilling from his living room. But even in the half light Keith can tell that the vest he's toying with has been tailored for his body; It hugs the curves of his trim waste and emphasizes the upwards sweep of his chest far too well to be rented. The shirt he's wearing under it is a dark aquamarine, jewel bright against his dusky skin, and his sleeves are shoved casually up his fore arms in a way that has never failed to make Keith's stomach do flips.

 

There had probably been a tie once upon a time, but it is long gone, and the first three buttons on his shirt have already been popped and...he's too far away to see, but it's probably flashing just the slightest hint of collarbones... He finishes peeling off the vest and lets it slide to the ground with a slow roll of his shoulders. He starts towards the woman as he works the tails of his shirt out of his slacks, and it's a show, obviously meant to be one, a slow, sensual swing of hips that kind of blindsides Keith, because Holy Mother of God....

 

Shiro clears his throat behind him, making him jump a bit.

 

"Maybe...uh, we should probably..." Shiro says. Keith hums in agreement because yes, they probably should.

 

Neither one of them move.

 

The shirt comes off just as slowly as the vest, another casual shrug, the light behind him playing off of the gentle slope of his shoulders and casting sharp shadows into the dip of his clavicle and the delicate hollow of his throat. Was his neck always that long? Keith wonders. Maybe it was a trick of the light.

 

The woman moves to sit on the patio wall and their neighbor slips between her thighs, arching his long body over hers so that he can steal a kiss while she works at his belt. The slacks -- and they're too far away and it's too dark (goddamnit) to see for sure, but Keith is willing to bet that they mold to his ass as perfectly as the vest had molded to his torso -- fall away and...the guy isn't wearing any underwear, and he's saluting hard and proud. Keith jerks his gaze away and takes a quick pull off of his beer to ward off the heat he can feel flaring high in his cheeks. Well then.

 

"Keith..."

 

His husband's voice is soft and husky, right in his ear. Warm hands slip over his shoulders and slide down his chest to rest where his heart is beating just a little too fast. A warm body presses against his back. Keith smiles ruefully, sets his beer down on the patio wall and stands, taking one of Shiro's hands in his and tugging him towards the door.

 

"Ok, so maybe he's a little cute."

 

Shiro laughs as they head inside.  



	4. Lazy Mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith wakes up late, he and Lance finally get around to that whole 'Talking' thing, and a date is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally much shorter and less full of dialogue, but I just got done writing a talking chapter for Lance and Shiro and I was kind of stuck in a fluff mood. Also, there used to be porn at the end of this chapter, but I moved it to Shiro's story, since it's between him and Keith. 
> 
> Next chapter is going to feature self indulgent descriptions of all of the things Lance's tongue can do to a fork and poetic waxing about inappropriate boners at the dinner table.
> 
> This isn't really the direction I had planned this story to go when I started writing it, but I think I like this a lot better than what I had in mind.

4.

 

A couple weeks later, Keith wakes slowly to spanish music and the smell of something grilling drifting lazily through his window. He checks his alarm clock and is mildly surprised to find that it's already noon. Shiro will have already left for work, then, and Keith feels bereft for a moment, alone in their bed and lacking a good morning kiss.

 

He eventually drags himself up and into the kitchen, where he finds a short note from Shiro -- _Didn't want to wake you. Took a pic of you drooling on the pillow though. Will post on FB. Love you, see you tonight_ \-- and a cold pot of coffee. He briefly contemplates making a new pot, but he's feeling lazy, still warm and languid from sleeping in so late, so he pours a cup of cold and sticks it in the microwave for a few seconds.

 

As he stirs in a couple of spoonfuls of sugar he glances at the patio door, absently, and wonders what his neighbor is up to.

 

Grilling, as it turns out, which also explains the mouthwatering smells drifting around on the breeze. Grilling, in a pair of jeans slung so low on his hips Keith's kind of afraid that they are going to slip off any second, especially given the way he keeps swinging and gyrating said hips to the beat of the music blasting out of an old stereo perched on the patio wall.

 

He's also not wearing a shirt, but by this point Keith isn't even a little surprised. He's kind of wondering if the guy even owns more than two.

 

(He remembers jewel bright cloth sliding over tanned shoulders like a waterfall and hums. _It's too early in the afternoon for this,_ he thinks. _I haven't even had my first cup of coffee yet._ )

 

Neighbor Guy chooses that moment to look up and catches Keith's blatant staring. He grins -- Keith wonders, absently, if his face dimples when he smiles. He looks like the kind of guy who'd have dimples, but it's too far to tell for sure -- and raises his tongs in a kind of salute.

 

"Hey!" He calls, turning the volume on his music down so Keith can hear him "Your boyfriend not home today?"

 

Keith shakes his head.

 

"Aww, too bad." Neighbor guy says. He flips whatever it is that he is cooking and lowers the lid on the grill. "Was going to see if you guys wanted some. Oh well, his loss?" He props a hip against the wall and looks at Keith expectantly, but Keith's attention has wandered to his nipples -- two little spots of darker skin, and he wonders, absently, what neighbor guy would do it Keith ran his fingernail over one of them. Or if he took it between his teeth and bit, or rolled it between his fingers and pulled. Would he moan? Would that stupid smirking mouth go slack?

 

And that thought leads to another, a mental image of that stupid smirking mouth stretched wide and wrapped around Shiro's dick.

 

It's a surprisingly pleasant thought.

 

"Hey. Heeeeeey, you ok over there?"

 

Keith drags his eyes away from the soft V of Neighbor Guy's pelvis back to his face. He's frowning, eyebrows scrunched. He looks completely baffled, and it's such a cute expression that for a moment Keith doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

 

Skinny guys aren't his thing, but, well...he thinks about that brief glimpse of Neighbor Guy's dick, curving up towards his stomach. He's been thinking about that a lot, recently.

 

"Fine." he says. He runs a hand through his hair, tugs on it a little roughly, trying to physically pull his mind out of the gutter. He lifts his coffee cup a bit. "Just woke up." _Need to get laid_ he adds mentally. He and Shiro haven't had sex in like, a week. Truly, he is deprived.

 

Neighbor Guy's expression clears, mouth forming a little 'O' of understanding and Keith's dick twitches against his leg and it's too early for this. Or...or late for this. Or something.

 

He really, really wants to tell him to go put on a shirt already.

 

He also really, really doesn't want him to.

 

"Hey, I feel you." He says. "Mornings aren't my thing, either."

 

Keith hums. "What are you grilling?" he asks after a moment because, well, he hasn't eaten yet and he's hungry.

 

"Pechuga de Pollo a la Plancha." He says. Keith blinks.

 

"Uh..?"

 

Neighbor guy throws back his head and laughs and Keith frowns, starts to get annoyed....but then gets completely side tracked by the smooth column of tanned skin being bared for him and he can't.... _quite_ work up the huff that he wants to.

 

"Grilled chicken." The guy says. "Do you want some? I made too much. Still used to cooking for a lot of people..." His tone takes on a wistful note that makes Keith's heart do a funny thing.

 

"Homesick?" He asks. The guy nods, smile turning rueful.

 

"Yeah. You'd think I'd be over it by now, huh? But I didn't get to go back home this summer, so I guess I'm feeling it pretty hard."

 

"Where's home?" It occurs to Keith that they've been interacting over their balconies for almost two months now, and this is the first time they have actually spoken to each other. It's...a strange realization to have, especially considering how comfortable Keith feels, standing there in pajama pants and one of Shiro's old t-shirts. People usually make him uneasy just by existing in his general vicinity. Talking to people -- especially strangers -- is never this easy.

 

"Cuba."

 

"What, seriously?" The guy looks a little put out by Keith's disbelieving tone, so he adds "You don't have an accent?" then panics internally when he realizes that that also probably sounded really rude. But the guy just laughs again, and winks.

 

"Why thank you! That part was hard to perfect, I admit, but luckily, I am _really_ good with my tongue." Then he runs said tongue over his bottom lip in a very deliberate fashion.

 

Keith opens his mouth, realizes that he has nothing to say to that, and closes it again. He suddenly feels really warm, and that mental image of this guys lips wrapped around Shiro's cock is firmly reasserting itself in the forefront of his mind. He might make a choked kind of whimpering noise, but he's pretty sure that Neighbor Guy can't hear it across the distance and over his music. Probably. Hopefully.

 

"I'm Lance." He says after an awkward moment, when it becomes apparent that Keith is just going to stand there and stare at him like an idiot. "And _you_ " he adds before Keith can say anything "Are Keith, according to the really hot muscly dude you live with."

 

"You've talked to Shiro?" Keith asks, surprised and a little hurt. Shiro never mentioned anything about it to him!

 

"Hmm, is that his name?" Neighbor Guy -- Lance -- asks. "He ever actually got around to telling me. But yeah, we get up around the same time in the mornings so we say hi."

 

"Oh." Keith feels a little guilty now, that this is the first time he and Lance have spoken. Shiro has apparently already jumped on that ball. Keith is going to have to have words with him, for leaving him out of the conversation. "I don't wake up early if I don't have to." Keith says, as if that will excuse him. Lance perches sideways on the wall and his jeans ride down enough that Keith can see the indent at the top of his ass and just a little bit of the cleft. He follows the smooth planes of Lance's back, up to his shoulders, over his sharp collar bone and...

 

Lance is smirking at him in a way that is best described as "really fucking smug."

 

"I got an idea." he says. "How about you and Shiro come over for dinner instead? That way he's not missing out? I'm one hell of a cook."

 

"Promises, promises." Keith says without thinking. He takes a deep breath, then, and steels himself. "Sure. Shiro gets off at three, usually."

 

Lance looks delighted. "Four, then? I'll even put on some decent clothes." He laughs. Keith takes a thoughtful sip of his coffee and lets his eyes roam -- very obviously -- over Lance's body a second time. He does not miss the way his smirk wavers, just a bit.

 

"Where's the fun in that?" He asks.


	5. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner happens. Lance flirts, Keith tries really hard to keep his hands to himself (and mostly succeeds), Shiro is Shiro. Keith thinks semi-romantic things, mostly with his dick. Somewhere in there an awkward conversation happens, some baselines are established. All in all, it's a good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho boy. This chapter fought me. I'm still not 100% happy with it, BUT! it basically doubles the fic's word count on its own, so there you go. 
> 
> Less tongue-on-fork action happens in this chapter than I originally planned for, but Lance does lick things quite a bit, so there is that. Keith's focus has always been more sex-oriented than Shiro's so that helped, a bit.
> 
> Next chapter is porn, and _probably_ from Lance's POV? I haven't decided on that yet, so it's kind of whatever. 
> 
> So, I know I said I'd have this out Saturday, but I was in Shreveport all day sat helping a friend at a food festival, and then when I got home I got roped into a DND game with the gaming group. Then Sunday I slept 19 hours. So.
> 
> Next chapter SHOULDN'T take as long. Knock on wood.

5.

 

Keith is not pacing. Nor is he nervous. He just....thinks better when he's moving, and the room is small, so he can only really move back and forth. And the churning, fluttering feeling in his stomach are _not_ 'butterflies,' thank you Shiro. It's....because he had three cups of coffee on an empty stomach, that's all. And also another reason why he is not-pacing. Because caffeine. Not nerves.

 

He collapses back onto the bed with a groan, hands pressed to his face. What was he thinking, agreeing to this? What they had had was _fine_. They...they flirted from a distance, and Lance never had to find out what a social fuck up Keith was because they never actually _spoke_ , but now they are going to have _dinner_ together, which means that they are going to have to _talk_ to each other, and historically, Keith does not do so well with polite conversation. He's too blunt. He's too impatient. He tends to offend people without meaning to. He's going to do something to ruin this, he just knows it. Maybe it isn't too late to fake a headache. Shiro can do all of the talking for both of them. He's good at that. Hell, he's already been doing that, apparently.

 

Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear; The bathroom door opens and Shiro emerges in a cloud of steam, toweling his hair dry. He catches sight of Keith sprawled half dressed on the bed, takes one look at his face, and frowns.

 

"No." He says.

 

"No?" Keith repeats, raising an eyebrow and trying for an innocent expression. Ah shit, he's on to him.

 

"Put on a shirt." Shiro said, heading for his own clothes, which he had laid out ahead of time like the obsessively organized person the army had turned him into. "We have fifteen minutes."

 

"You know" Keith starts, picking at a loose thread on the bedspread "I'm not really--"

 

A shirt hits him in the face. He yelps indignantly, ripping it away. It's one of his, the dark red one that Shiro says screams "fuck me." He glares up at his husband, who looms over the bed in a black shirt and jeans that are _just_ loose enough that they don't look painted on. His arms are crossed and his brow is pinched in what Keith recognizes as his 'concerned dad' look. He groans.

 

"Keith" Shiro says "what's the matter?"

 

"Nothing." Keith mutters. He can't _quite_ keep the sullen tone out his voice. Shiro sighs and sits on the mattress beside him, reaching out to card his fingers comfortingly through Keith's hair.

 

"We don't have to go if you don't want to" he says quietly "but you need to make sure that this is something you really don't want to do before we back out."

 

Keith is silent for a long moment. He _wants_ to go to Lance's apartment. He _wants_ to see if his cheeks dimple when he smiles. He _wants_ to see if he has freckles, or if his skin is as flawlessly smooth as it looks from his balcony. He _wants_ to see if he'll make good on his threat to wear a shirt, or if he'll answer the door in just those jeans from earlier. (He hopes it's the jeans from earlier. He really, really wants to see the expression on Shiro's face.)

 

"It's just a date." Shiro assures him. "If it doesn't work out, no harm, no foul."

 

Keith sighs. His stomach hurts. "It doesn't feel like just a date." He says softly. The corner of Shiro's mouth quirks.

 

"Yeah" he says "I know."

 

*~*~*~*

 

Lance isn't wearing a shirt. And he _is_ still wearing the jeans from earlier. He's also covered in a fine sheen of sweat, hair dark and curling around his forehead, ears and neck.

 

And he has one dimple in the left corner of his mouth. It gives his smile a lopsided, roguish kind of look.

 

"Sorry" he says, standing aside to let them in, but not until he's given them both a very obvious and very thorough once over "the, uh, oven makes the apartment really hot." He scrubs his hands down the thighs of his pants, which seem to have slipped even lower since Keith last saw him (Keith sneaks a glance a Shiro. His eyes are very firmly on Lance's face while Lance is looking at him, but Keith catches where they dip to the minute he turns away to usher them into the living room proper. He feels simultaneously victorious and relived that he isn't the only one having issues keeping his gaze where it needs to be.) 

 

The apartment is a little warm -- Keith can feel the AC if he's directly under a vent, but Lance has opened the patio door and every window and the closer they get to the kitchen, the warmer the air gets. There's a floor fan blowing in the general direction of the oven and four heaping dishes of food steaming gently on the limited counter space. It's way too much for three people.

 

"Feeding an army?" Shiro asks dryly. Lance laughs.

 

"Well, I grilled too much chicken, and then I was like 'I"ll make some paella with the extra,' right? Except a little goes a long way, so I ended up with enough paella to feed my whole family back home, and then I noticed I had some leftover rice, and I figured, 'hey, what's grilled chicken without congri, right?' aaannnd long story short it kind of snowballed." He shrugs expansively. "I'm going to be sending leftovers home with you, just so you know. There is no way all of this food is going to get eaten if it just sits with me. Usually I'd just give it to Hunk, but he's on his honeymoon, so..."

 

Keith has no idea what paella is (or who Hunk is), but the entire apartment smells amazing. His stomach chooses that moment to remind him -- loudly -- that he hasn't eaten anything all day. He feels a blush crawling up his neck, but then Lance is in his space, pressing a serving dish of rice with various bits of meat and veggies into his hands. It's warm, but not hot. Likewise, he's shoving another laden dish into Shiro's waiting arms, this one covered in...bananas?

 

"Ok, so we have some congri, paella, um, fried plantains and regular grilled chicken. I kind of wanted to make some pernil too, but that would have taken too long. Maybe next time." He breezes by them, holding two more plates of food -- more rice and the chicken he had been grilling earlier that day -- and Keith looks wide-eyed at Shiro, trying to pretend like he's not having a minor heart attack. Shiro grins at him and nudges him forward. Lance is still talking, his voice drifting into the apartment from the open patio door. Keith and Shiro follow him outside to find a card table and three folding chairs set up next to the grill. There is already a pitcher of something colorful sweating in the center. It has ice and bits of fruit floating in it.

 

"I hope you don't mind, but I don't actually have a dinner table? I mean, it's usually just me, so no need, you know? I just sit on the couch or the counter. Oh! I made tres leches for desert too, and some pudin frio, but you can't eat 'em yet, they're still chilling. Anyway, so I asked Hunk -- he was my roommate this last year at college --" he swings around to look at Shiro "-- he's the one that just got married, I told you about that. Anyway, I asked if I could borrow his card table. It's not, um, romantic of anything" he sets his dishes down and tugs absently at a lock of his hair "but I wasn't sure if it actually....um.." he hesitates, biting at his bottom lip. Then he shrugs. "So anyway, ta-da!"

 

"Do you always talk this much?" Keith asks, genuinely curious and a little horrified, because he's not really sure Lance took a single breath during the entire spiel, and he didn't think human lungs could do that. He sees Shiro wince out of the corner of his eye.

 

Lance shuts his mout so fast his teeth click together. He looks surprised for a split second, then he smirks. "You going to shut me up, flaco?"

 

"I can think of a few ways I'd like to." Keith returns, because it's a challenge, obviously, from the jut of his chin to the cocky curve of his lips, and Keith has never been able to resist a challenge. Especially not from a pretty face. And he has no idea what Lance just called him, but he's not going to take it lying down.

 

Lance's eyes fairly gleam in excitement.

 

"So, what _is_ paella, exactly?" Shiro cuts in, a little too loudly, before Lance can respond. He takes the plate that Keith is holding and sets it and his down on the table. Lance's posture relaxes a bit and he goes back to fussing with the food, though he does shoot Keith a contemplative look.

 

"Rice with stuff in it." he says cheerfully. "Olives, onions, shrimp, fish, chicken, sausage, kind of whatever is on hand.

 

"You had all of that on hand?" Keith asks, because who the hell keeps all of that in their fridge just because? Lance bites at his lip again -- drawing Keith's attention to soft and plush it looks this close -- and shrugs.

 

"Uh, well, I mean kind of? Most of it. I just had to um. Run out and get a few things." He waves a hand in their air dismissively, pulling one of the chairs out and plopping himself into it. Keith and Shiro follow his example.

 

They allow Lance to pile food onto their plates. He seems really excited and Keith thinks about the wistful look on his face earlier that day, when he'd been talking about his home, and wonders how lonely Lance has been since he moved to the states. He has at least one friend, apparently, but well. Sometimes that's just not enough. God only knew Keith missed his dad fiercely some days, and the guy had been dead almost ten years.

 

He and Shiro wind up with so much food Keith's kind of afraid it's going to spill off of their plates, but Lance is beaming at them from across the table, so he keeps his mouth shut and starts eating.

 

It's really good -- except for the plantains. Maybe its because he's expecting bananas, but the fact that they taste kind of like potatoes is a little off-putting -- and there is a long stretch of comfortable silence as they all stuff their faces.

 

"Do you cook a lot? This is delicious..." Keith starts eventually, once he can make himself put his fork down again. He glances up at Lance in time to see him use his fingers to tug a piece of grilled chicken off the bone and pop it into his mouth, then causally lick the grease from his thumb. Keith's mouth goes a little dry and he reaches for his drink, takes a huge swallow, and realizes too late that it's alcoholic.

 

"Thirsty?" Lance asks innocently. His smile isn't particularly innocent though. Next to him, Shiro chokes.

 

Keith narrows his eyes.

 

"Yes." He says, voice as carefully neutral as he can make it. "Very." He takes another, slower, sip of his drink, then deliberately drags his tongue over his upper lip, chasing the sweet, lingering taste of fruit. Lance follows the movement.

 

"This is some kind of punch, right?" Shiro says, nudging his own glass. "It's tasty. What's in it."

 

"Pineapple juice, mango juice, orange juice and rum." Lance rattles off, then blinks and facepalms himself. "Fuck me, I forgot to ask if you guys were allergic to anything."

 

"Nothing edible." Shiro assures him. "Keith would be dead already if he did -- he tends to just stick things in his mouth without question."

 

"You would know, wouldn't you?" Keith mutters, unable to help himself.

 

"No idea what you mean by that, dear." Shiro responds loftily. He takes another sip of his drink, but almost drops his glass when Keith pinches him under the table.

 

Across form them Lance pops another bite of chicken in to his mouth and leans back in his chair, chewing thoughtfully.

 

"So" he says "you two are together, right? Because neither of you have ever actually given me a straight answer on that, and I gotta tell you, the curiosity has been killing me."

 

Ah.

 

Keith's stomach does a barrel roll and suddenly he's not really hungry anymore. This is always the part where things get...tricky.

 

"We're married." He says, because he's found that it's better to just come out and say it. Lance's eyes widen a bit.

 

"Oh." He says. Then, to Keith's surprise, he grins. "Shiro said you guy's've been friends since you were little. I was kind of wondering if it was like, "official" long term or just long term long term." He takes a long swallow of his own drink, head tipped back, and Keith watches his Adam's apple bob. Throats have never been a thing for him before, but there's a bead of sweat right at his jawline and Keith kind of wants to lick it off of him. And then he'd really, really like to suck a hickey into that tan skin, just to see what it would look like.

 

Which is probably not a thought that he needs to be entertaining right now.

 

"Official long term." Shiro is saying. "We figured, if we're going to be stuck with each other forever, might as well get the rings and the official government documents to go with it."

 

"'Stuck,' right. You guys remind me of mi abuelo y mi abualita." Lance smirks. "They still hold hands and make...um, 'cow eyes?'" He tilts his head thoughtfully, then shrugs it off. "whatever, they're like, eighty and they still make people around them sick when they look at each other."

 

"Thank you?" Shiro says, laughing.

 

"We do not." Keith says at the same time.

 

"You keep telling yourself that." Lance says smugly. He leans forward and takes another helping of one of the rice dishes, and Keith is momentarily distracted from his nerves by the way his shoulders and biceps flex. This close, he can see that Lance's body is more toned than he had originally though, with light but present muscles moving just beneath his skin. He wonders what Lance does to keep in shape. He has never seen him with exercise equipment, but given how little he knows about his neighbor, that means absolutely nothing.

 

"So, I've been meaning to ask" Shiro says "where in Cuba are you from?"

 

And so they spend the next half hour or so listening to stories from Lance's childhood. It's surprisingly pleasant, not just because Lance is a descriptive story teller, but because he is an animated one as well; He speaks as much with his body as with his words, which is probably for the best, because the more excited he gets, the more he seems to forget himself, to the point that, in the middle of some anecdote about one of his older brothers and some farm animals, he simply lapses into Spanish for a sentence or two before he catches himself.

 

"Ah, sorry." He says sheepishly, biting his lip in that distracting way again. Keith really, really wants to tell him that a language has never turned him on more -- he'd never given much thought to Spanish, though he'd grown up hearing it, but the way it rolled off of Lance's tongue was just as distracting as his habit of licking his fingers or biting his lip or....really anything. Keith has never felt so restless over a dinner before, and the guy isn't even really doing anything, aside form the occasional suggestive comment or glance. But it's something about being so close to someone he's only ever seen at a distance -- now that he's able to see all of his features and gestures so clearly, he's paying more attention than he might have, normally. He's hyper aware of the fact that Lance is still sweating a little from the heat, that if his hair - soft-looking and wavy - weren't so short it would probably be curly, that he tends to sprawl in his chair, loose-limbed, with his arm thrown over the back, that the position keeps his jeans just above what would be considered indecent, that he smiles with his whole face and that there is a small scar on his shoulder that Keith really wants to put his lips to. Getting off with Shiro earlier had only taken the edge off, it seems: he can feel heat pooling in his belly and he has to force himself to turn back into the conversation instead of wondering what Lance's preference in the biting department are.

When a bit of rice gets stuck to the corner of Lance's mouth, though, he has to resist the urge to lean over the table and lick it away for him, and when Lance's tongue darts out do the job, Keith makes himself look away, curling his hands into his jeans to keep from reaching out and...Jesus.

 

He looks at Shiro instead, and sees the flush high on his cheeks and the way he's focusing entirely too much of his attention on his food and feels a little better about his slipping self control.

 

That doesn't make him any less inclined to tease, though. Eventually, Lance excuses himself and heads back into the apartment to get desert. Keith watches Shiro watch Lance's hips until he's too far into the apartment to see (and therefore hear), then leans over and says "Do you think if we fuck him hard enough we can make him forget how to English?"

 

Shiro is still spluttering his way through a response, red faced, when Lance comes back. He gives Shiro a worried look. Then his gaze slides to Keith, one eyebrow raised. Keith fights to keep his expression neutral.

 

"Something went down wrong." He says. Shiro pinches him -- hard -- under the table.

 

"Uh-huh." Lance says, looking both unconvinced and unimpressed, but he doesn't argue.

 

Desert turns out to be a vanilla poke cake of some kind soaked with sweetened milk and a chilled pudding poured over rum-soaked biscuits. Both are delicious, but Keith stops paying attention almost immediately because Lance takes a forkful of pudding and _licks_ it off. He holds eye contact with Shiro the whole time. Keith's pretty sure Shiro isn't breathing.

 

Keith puts his fork down slowly. Then he puts his head in his hands. The image of Lance's tongue lapping lasciviously at the tines of his fork does not go away.

 

"Christ." He mutters. He's at least at half-mast and at this point it's really starting to get uncomfortable. He spares a moment of sympathy for Shiro's dick, trapped in his stupidly tight jeans.

 

"Um..." Keith peeks out from between his fingers. Lance is watching him with an uncertain expression. It's the fist time Keith has seen him look anything less than absolutely confident. He's unsure how to feel about that.

 

"Sorry?" Lance says sheepishly. "Hunk tells me I come on like a fright train. Too much?"

 

"Depends" Keith says, his voice a little strained "on how badly you want this night to end with us fucking you against a wall."

 

Lance's face goes bright red.

 

"Uh." He says again, eyes widening. "I wouldn't be opposed to it, but...I....shit." he scrubs a hand through his hair, making it stand on end in little tufts.

 

"Keith does the same thing." Shiro says "He's been holding back, I think, because he didn't want to scare you off."

 

"Because you kept pinching me under the table." Keith corrects. Lance's shoulders relax minutely.

 

"Because I didn't want him to scare you off." Shiro repeats placidly. He would look completely unruffled, if his face weren't so flushed. "Or to escalate things, which I guess was more likely to happen."

 

"Ah." Lance's eyes flicked between the two of them, his lips quirking in an uncertain half-smile. "You're not going to scare me off?" He says. He laughs nervously. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm trying to seduce the two of you."

 

"We noticed." Keith and Shiro say together.

 

"I guess, then, that our question for you is this: Do you want this to be a long term thing, or a short term thing, or a sometimes thing, or..." Shiro adds. Lance looks surprised.

 

"Long term...is an option?" He asks, voice uncharacteristically small and very, very hopeful. It makes Keith's heart hurt.

 

"We wouldn't be sitting here if it wasn't." He snaps, maybe a bit more sharply than he intended to, if the pinch he gets to his thigh is any indication.

 

"Of course it is." Shiro soothes. "If you want it to be."

 

Lance licks those stupidly tempting lips of his again, and smiles.

 

"Yeah." He breaths. "I'd like that."

 

*~*~*~*

 

The rest of dinner goes smoothly. Lance continues to flirt, Keith makes it a personal mission to get him to blush again. Shiro moderates. By the time Keith and Shiro head back to their own apartment, it has been dark for hours and their arms are loaded down with disposable tupperwear containers. At the door, Keith hesitates, then hands his portion of the tupperwear to Shiro, who gives him a warning look.

 

"So, I'd say that went well, right?" He says to Lance. Lance's brow furrows like he's trying to determine whether or not he's being asked a trick question.

 

"Yes?" He says uncertainly. Keith rolls his eyes.

 

"Then you're forgetting something, dumbass."

 

"Keith." Shiro warns. Lance crosses his arms, tipping his chin up in challenge.

 

"Oh yeah, asshole? What am I forgetting?"

 

"A goodnight kiss."

 

Lance's face turns red. Keith hears Shiro sigh behind him. He reaches up (Lance is taller than he is by a couple of inches, wich shouldn't be annoying, except that it really is) and takes Lance's chin between his thumb and fore-finger, tipping his head down and pressing a firm, chaste kiss to his lips.

 

They're just as soft as they look.

 

Lance makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat, body going lax. Keith holds him there for a few seconds, just enough time for him to lean into the kiss, and for Shiro to step up behind him. When Keith moves away he takes the tupperwear from Shiro so that he can take Lance's face gently between his hands and press his own soft kiss to his waiting mouth.

 

*~*~*~*

 

When they get back to their own apartment, Shiro punches Kieth in the arm. Hard.

 

"Ow!" Keith snaps, rubbing the tender spot. It probably won't bruise, but that's beside the point. "The fuck was that for?!"

 

"'Make him forget how to English?!'" Shiro snaps. Keith laughs so hard he has to sit down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, most of the food mentioned here is stuff my family-in-law cooks. They are Dominican, not Cuban, but I read somewhere that a lot of food kind of carries over across the Caribbean. I went with Paella because it is a dish from Spain that I have been told (by afore said in-laws) is common in former Spanish colonies, as are plantains and your general rice/beans/chicken combo (I have eaten SO MUCH rice/beans/chicken since getting married. Actually, speaking of which, GUESS WHAT I'M EATING RIGHT NOW?!) I'm less certain about the Tres Leches, and not certain at all about the Pudin Frio (actually, I'm pretty sure Pudin Frio is a DR thing. I vaguely remember my sister in law telling me that the biscuits they use are from a specific family owned bakery in the DR, though that might just be where they get THEIR biscuits, idk.) If I got anything significantly wrong, please let me know.


End file.
